


And I Swear To...

by Aggression



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Alien Mythology/Religion, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Remix, As I've rearranged some pieces of canon to make this work, Cyclonus' TFA canon backstory does not apply, I don't own the Almanac, Light Angst, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Minor Character Death, Priests of Primus AU, alien society, and not really caring about contradictions when checking the wiki, priesthood AU, so really this is a lot of guess work at canon when writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-09-24 22:24:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20366089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aggression/pseuds/Aggression
Summary: Tailgate has been a Priest of Primus for millennia, a job that is made no easier whether Cybertron has been in peace or wartime, and ever harder by the fact that he misses his conjunx each day.An AU life for Tailgate as a religious priest in the TFA Universe. This fic was done for the 2019 Transformers Big Bang. My lovely artists are quin_less and jailbirddraws (both twitter handles)!





	1. Past: One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my fic for the 2019 Transformers Big Bang!! Thank you Ptero so much for hosting!! 
> 
> And thank you so much to both [jailbirddraws](https://twitter.com/jailbirddraws) and [quin_less](https://twitter.com/quin_less) for the wonderful art they did! Please go follow them they've both awesome artists!!
> 
> The rest of this fic will be going up on a weekly posting schedule, so see you again next Sunday!

_ I swear to serve the Priesthood with loyalty and deep faith, forever carrying Primus in my spark where ever I may go. _

***

“Aha, well, we’re both our of out jobs now, aren’t we?” 

Tailgate winced at the false mirth in his own voice. Cyclonus was supposed to be the Head of the Priesthood Guard, protector of the Priest of Vector Sigma. (He was supposed to be Head of the Primal Guard, Protector of the Matrix Bearer, but the Matrix of Leadership had been lost after Nova Prime’s murder — the event from vorns ago that started all this trouble.) So, Cyclonus and his Guard watched over Vector Sigma and worked for the High Priest, who currently was a civilian frame who held no trust for warframes as the sparks of the Autobot-Decepticon War truly began to ignite. Tailgate was supposed to be the Caretaker of the Allspark, but that was impossible, with the precious relic now shot off into the deep recesses of random space. 

So, they were both out of jobs, and Cyclonus was to be out a home. Tailgate looked at the members of the Priesthood Guard preparing to leave with their Captain — all warframes. Those truly dedicated to Primus’ service should not care for the useless divisions of the Autobot-Decepticon War, but with the shift to full Autobot control of Cybertron (and power-hungry civilianframes in the Priesthood’s own ranks), the Priesthood of Primus could no longer protect their own. The warframe members would have to take their chances after trying to remain non-partisan within the conflict, and hope that Lord Megatron would take them in. 

“We’re not going to be able to keep in touch, are we?”

“Probably not, little one.” 

Cyclonus was kneeling before Tailgate, one clawed hand gently cupping his small conjux’s face. Tailgate tried to ignore the heavy weight in his spark by focusing on that point of contact, and by focusing on the beautiful face right in front of his own. He had always loved the hollows of Cyclonus’ cheeks. He had thought them striking, the warframe’s whole visage captivatingly intimidating the first time he had seen him. Tailgate would always have Cyclonus’ looks committed to memory, but he still stared all he could in this moment. 

He stared until he was enveloped, Cyclonus easily pulling him into a deep hug, lifting his pedes off the ground as he stood up. Cyclonus brought them chest to chest, and Tailgate could feel the thrum of the other’s spark even through thick purple plating. 

After a moment, Tailgate wiggled so that his conjunx lessened his hold. Sparks crackled out from the edges of Tailgate’s visor as his voice wavered. ”P-promise me you’ll come home one cycle?”

It was an odd difference between optic types — how mecha with visors or coverless orbs showered sparks, and how mecha with sliding covers leaked coolant when their processors were overcome with emotion. A trail of coolant slid down from Cyclonus’ optic to catch in his melancholic smile. “By Primus’ will, I hope to one cycle.” 

Tailgate reached up to lightly flick one of Cyclonus’ horns. “And one cycle I’ll get you to stop being so grimly realistic. Nevermind that. I’m _ determined _to see you again.”

Cyclonus laughed, too short for Tailgate’s tastes, he would love to commit a longer one to his memory files in this moment, but it was a laugh all the same. “Then you will. For now though, we must be off.” 

Before Cyclonus set him down, Tailgate’s conjunx kissed him once in the middle of his visor, brought their helms together so they rested against each other for another moment, and then placed one final kiss on the top of his helm. The warframe stepped back, and led the remainder of what was once the Primal Guard onto a small cruiser. 

Tailgate stood on rough terrain, left alone in the middle of a barren field just outside of Iacon, as he watched the cruiser set off out into space. 

It was the smallest he had ever felt in his life.

***


	2. Present: One

_ I swear to serve all Cybertronians equally, as we are all children of Primus, born from the same Great Spark._

***

Ratchet had called Optimus Prime to Iacon Military Hospital.

_"I need you to come throw your new weight around, kid.” _

Ratchet met him at the entrance, a scowl on his faceplates. “Thanks for coming. We’re waiting for one more mech, and then you’re gonna help me make sure he gets in to the Con that’s dying.”

Optimus’ mouth set in a hard line. “The one from the break-out attempt from two cycles ago?” General Strika had arranged a covert strike team to attempt to break free Megatron from Trypticon prison. The mess had revealed two civilian frame betrayers on the inside of the prison guard — plants that Shockwave had presumably arranged long ago as Longarm Prime, but the spy-bot still was staunchly refusing to talk so they couldn’t know for sure. 

Nevertheless, the attempt had failed, with one Con dead on the scene, both civilian frames dead, two minorly injured Cons, and the largest Con of the bunch gravely injured. “The shuttle’s dying then?”

“Yes, spark’s just finally guttering out. He’s asked for Rites for his passing.”

“I thought the Priesthood denied access to Decepticons for betraying Cybertron?”

“As if they have the right to. I can’t even say they’re interpreting the Codes wrong anymore; they’re just kissing up to the government’s afts.” Optimus whirled around to face a short white and light blue mech standing behind him, white servos pointedly held on white hips. Etchings were almost defunct as a personal adornment, and this mech was absolutely covered in them from helm to pede. None of the engravings were filled in, except two symbols right over his spark filled with a warm purple. Optimus quickly realized he couldn’t read the etchings. 

The mech’s etching were all in Primal Vernacular. The mech was a Priest of Primus then. 

The mech looked beyond him, towards Ratchet. “You and Red Alert rang?”

“Yes.” Ratchet pointed to Optimus. “This is Optimus Prime. He’s here to make sure no one gives us too much trouble while we get you in.”

Optimus wasn’t quite sure what to make of the small mech’s sudden tilt of his helm, but part of him wondered if he was being studied. There was no indication of the mech’s thoughts. “Lead the way then.”

Ratchet tore through the hospital, clearly knowing exactly where they needed to go, and Optimus and the blue and white mech followed. The other was slightly in front of him, and when they entered an elevator, Optimus finally got a word in. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I caught your designation.”

“Tailgate. I’m the oldest member of the Priesthood, and certainly know a great more than all of the young mechs currently running it even if they don’t like to acknowledge that fact.” 

Optimus worked to keep surprise from showing on his faceplates, but he knew he failed to stop his optics from widening slightly. While in the military academy, Optimus’ academic studies had a focus on Cybertronian history and society, and so he had worked closely with the Priesthood because their library was a trove of primary texts, but he certainly had never seen the mech before him. Not only had Optimus just come to know various members while studying at the Temple of Iacon, but the military academy also lent out recruits to larger functions as security as a sign of good faith. Surely he should have crossed Tailgate’s path before. 

The elevator door opened, and silence resumed as they all quickly filed out. Three quick turns, and as Optimus rounded the corner he immediately noticed two members of the Guard planted on either side of a heavily reinforced door. Everyone knew about the Decepticon wing of Iacon hospital — one modified for prisoner treatment — but this was the first time Optimus visited it personally. 

Ratchet approached, and the soldier on the left crossed his arms. “No one is allowed in or out except the attending physicians.”

“I am an attending physician; you can check with Red Alert if you must. I know she’s already in there.”

The one on the right spoke. “The slag’s dying anyways. Why do you need two in there?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you also have extensive medical training.”

It was almost sardonically comical how the two guards switched speaking. “And the priest has medical training too right?”

Optimus resisted the urge to sigh. He had initially be unsure about Ratchet dragging him into this, but the older mech had proven to be right in his suspicions that Optimus would be needed. “Any dying Cybertronian has the right to request Last Rites.”

“Cons don’t.”

Tailgate piped up. “Cons _ do _, each priest may choose to refuse them, however. Please move before I make you.”

Both soldiers wore incredulous expressions. Optimus couldn’t help but glance at Tailgate with one himself, but quickly smoothed over his faceplates. Ratchet looked completely unsurprised, and instead huffed. “I have to ask that you don’t make him. The walls in this part of the hospital may be reinforced but I really don’t have to have to write the report for why they were damaged.”

Okay. Optimus definitely had no idea what was going on at this point, and was vastly curious to who exactly Tailgate was. 

The right guard opened his mouth to continue arguing, when the door behind him opened. Red Alert stood in the frame, a deep frown on her faceplates. She inclined her helm towards their group. “Thank you for coming. And I apologize for the hold up.” 

She then looked towards each other the guards. “Now, you two, obstruction of working physicians is a _ hefty _ write up on your records when you’re posted here at Iacon Military. I’m sure Optimus Prime will be quick to sign off on my report. Move aside _ now. _”

They both looked like they wished to continue to argue, but Red Alert’s glare was one that could curdle energon in one’s lines. Optimus could feel anger rolling through the soldiers EM fields as he, Ratchet, and Tailgate entered the room. 

Hospitals rooms, on a normal day, were eerie to Optimus Prime. There was something even worse about entering the hospital room of a dying Decepticon. 

Red Alert quickly moved the Con’s bedside, appearing tiny beside the shuttle as she checked over his vitals. “Thank you again for coming, Tailgate.” 

“You know I’m always going to come for something like this, Red Alert.” Tailgate strode forward, completely unperturbed by the large Con that dwarfed him. “And your name is?”

“Momentum, Caretaker.”

“I haven’t been the Caretaker in forever.”

“I may be one of the few ancient rust buckets left, but all of us rust buckets make sure to remember you. You’d still take up your old job in a sparkbeat, yeah?”

“Of course!”

“Then you’re still the Caretaker.”

Again, none of the conversation made sense to Optimus. The scholar in him was interested though, to a degree of curiosity that he hadn’t felt in a long time, since before the incident on Archa Seven.

“I take it you’ll have to stay in here?” Tailgate was addressing Red Alert now.

“Yes, all of us would be best. Everyone around here has gotten more and more anxious since Ultra Magnus still hasn’t awoken from his coma. Even Optimus Prime should stay. If they want to complain, then at least we have rank with us as an eyewitness that this was purely within regulations. They can’t kick you out if you’re a priest willing to give service, even if it’s to a Decepticon.” 

Tailgate grumbled something too low for Optimus to hear. Momentum did, and quietly huffed and smiled at whatever had been said. 

Tailgate and Momentum continued on in hushed tones, and though Optimus was curious, he also understood that Last Rites should be rather private. The fact that one Prime and two physicians had to preside was an oddity. 

Truly, if he had not experienced everything he had upon Earth, Optimus would have counted this as bizarre. Now, though odd, something as seemingly harmless as this barely registered on Optimus’ newly adjusted scale of major life events. 

“How do you even know this guy?”

Ratchet rubbed his chin. “One of my mentors introduced me, way back when I was young. Tailgate’s ancient. I’m old, but he’s _ old. _You don’t meet him unless you have a reason to.”

“Don’t all priests end up doing public work at times?”

Ratchet huffed. “If he was the average member, then yes. But as you can guess from what he said earlier, he doesn’t agree with current leadership in the Priesthood. He really is the only priest who would agree to see to the needs of a warframe. The Priesthood technically struck his name from their rosters vorns ago, but he views their authority as illegitimate as they’ve refused to remain non-partisan in the war.” 

“...Hasn’t the Priesthood always worked to support Cybertron’s leadership?”

“Like I said, he’s old. He would say the Priesthood first and foremost supports the Cybertronian people, and would say that that includes _ all _Cybertronians. To him, the current order’s all a bunch of hacks because,” Ratchet uncrossed his arms to motion towards the Con and priest, “they refuse to serve a whole part of our species.” 

Optimus paused. 

He looked over the small mech across the room. Tailgate was leaning towards the Con, holding on of his massive servos in his own servos. “How does a priest with that radical of a view live?”

Ratchet laughed underneath his breath. “We have to send mecha who live in the gutters to find him when we need him. They know the catacombs underneath Iacon well enough to leave messages for him, but even those mecha don’t know where he actually lives down there.”

Optimus couldn’t help but let disbelief register in his voice. “A mech can survive down there?”

Ratchet shrugged. “He’s somehow managed to for millennia.” 

Optimus glanced back towards the priest and Con, and quickly went back to making optic-contact with Ratchet. He tactfully ignored the now crying Decepticon. “Seems like a tiny mech with a bunch of hidden skills.”

Optimus guessed that Ratchet was choking down an even louder laugh than from before. “You don’t know the half of it, kid. He wasn’t joking earlier when he threatened to move the two lugheads at the door aside. You’ve heard of special spark types right?”

“Yes.” 

“The Priesthood used to get first dibs at them, back in the day. Had to do with taking in those blessed by Primus into their ranks, for surely the blessed are inevitably supposed to work towards the betterment of Cybertronians.” Ratchet rolled his optics. “Which, ya know, is a load of slag. Just cause someone’s got some natural talent doesn’t mean they’re good at helping people. Anyways, Tailgate was one of those recruits; he makes no secret about it if you ask him. He’s unnaturally strong. The old mech could lift you with one servo.”

Optimus inclined his helm to watch Tailgate work from the corner of his optic. The priest was tracing chirolinguistics along various parts of the Con’s body. 

“If the Priesthood has kicked him out, why hasn’t the military recruited him? If he’s that unique of an outlier I don’t think they would care about his professional squabbles.”

“They might have tried a long while ago, but there’s no way Tailgate would even join with you guys. He’s extremely against the war, always has been.”

They quieted. Optimus considered that statement. He had met bots who didn’t support the war, but that almost always had to do with economic reasons, which Optimus highly doubted factored into Tailgate’s thoughts. There were very many who were indifferent to the war. Those mecha were just completely use to an Autobot-controlled Cybertron, and didn’t see the Decepticons as any form of genuine threat to their way of life. 

That group was definitely getting smaller in number. With recent Decepticon threats to Cybertron, and Interim Magnus Sentinel Prime’s current propaganda run, average citizens could no longer ignore the threat.

Optimus quickly came to the impression that Tailgate’s view on the war would be one he had never seen held by a bot before.

Tailgate finished with Momentum. He walked over to Red Alert, talking to her quietly for a moment before returning to Optimus and Ratchet. “Okay, we’re all done. Thank you, you two, for helping me get in here this cycle.”

Ratchet shook Tailgate’s servo. “You know I don’t care much for this stuff, but patients always deserve basic decencies.” 

Tailgate nodded, and then looked towards Optimus. “And you, Optimus Prime?”

Tailgate said “Prime” with a slight hesitance, as if he had to force the word out. “Me?”

“Yeah. Thank you for helping out, but can I ask why? You religious or?”

“Not anymore than the military expects me to be. There are some duties and ceremonies we have to perform. I spent some time helping with temple security.”

There was a brief flicker in Tailgate’s EM field. “Probably was boring for you then, yeah?”

“Well, I focused on history to complete my academic requirements, so it got me decent access to the temple’s archives. Thought I assume there’s stuff only the priests are allowed to see.”

Tailgate crossed his arms. “Yeah, probably, though, back in the day the whole archive was open to the public. The only items we restricted were so because they contained personal information we didn’t have the rights to release.”

Red Alert’s EM field prodded all three of their fields. “He’s asleep like as he requested, Tailgate.”

“Good. I should probably head out then. Always feel free to call for me.”

It felt minorly anti-climatic as they left the hospital. The two guards glowered at the three of them as they left the room, but then they walked out of the building as if they had been visiting a friend.

Optimus briefly wondered what it was like to slowly die without even a comrade, let alone a friend around. 


	3. Past: Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen... I may have almost forgotten to post this today.
> 
> If you wanna find me on social media, my twitter's @agent_blurr
> 
> Come say hi!

_I swear to cherish the gifts and challenges Primus presents before me, for together, they lead to a fulfilling life._

_***_

“Designation?”

“Tailgate of Rivets Field.”

“You are the one that was recommended by Priest Dawn of Rivets Field, correct? Because of your spark classification?”

“Ah, yes… sir! They’ve termed me a form of- ah- supercharged spark? I can lift far over the normal carrying capacity of someone my frametype.”

“Overcharged.” The priest currently attending to Tailgate was a lithe racerframe covered in Primal Vernacular etchings denoting her as a long-time member. She was tall and sleek and making Tailgate suddenly self-conscious. The priest looked Tailgate up and down, and Tailgate struggled to stay still underneath the other’s gaze. 

There was a nod. “You match the description Dawn sent ahead. My name is Navigator, if you would follow me.”

Before all of this, Tailgate had lived the modest life of a cleaner. A very good one, in fact. He had not been the average janitor, but had worked at Rivets Field military outpost, and had clearance to be one of the few civilian frames allowed to work on interstellar cruisers while they were in drydock. 

There had been an accident at work one day, a shipment of supplies being brought onto a cruiser while Tailgate and a couple other civilian frames scrubbed down the cargo hold. Tailgate had caught an errant falling supply box that was four times his size, ladened with heavy material, preventing it from crushing a coworker and himself. 

That incident had become a turning point in his life. His coworker and he should have died that cycle, but instead his coworker had been given a few cycles leave, and Tailgate had been given over to the priesthood. 

They had acted like it was fully his own decision, but Priest Dawn had been rather insistent that this was now Tailgate’s life-calling. His old boss at the outpost had been a bit of a religious fanatic and quick to remove Tailgate from the payroll. Not out of malice, but because she couldn’t imagine Tailgate turning down the offer to join.

That was why Tailgate found himself here, utterly mystified as he entered the Temple of Iacon. Rivets Field was a rather young port city, vasty industrial and contemporary. Iacon was a mix of old and new, and had stunned Tailgate when he arrived.

The Temple of Iacon was evidently _ ancient _. Tailgate had heard about Iacon’s historic design trends, how the oldest parts of the city had literally been carved out of a low ridge of natural metal and rock. Tailgate had arrived in the military complex district, and Iacon headquarters had covered whatever did remain of the old architecture underneath newer sheets of metal. 

The Temple of Iacon in contrast, wore its age with pride. The main hall was supported by a mix of stone and metal pillars, all covered in Primal Vernacular. The centre of the floor was inlaid with a large geode filled in with clear resin so one could walk over top of it. 

It was not a towering building — only three floors tall, minuscule compared to some of Iacon’s larger spires. Its most important sections were actually deep underground, carved into the planet, as Tailgate would later learn.

For now, Navigator led him one floor down, into the temple’s infirmary. “Your previous job was at a military port?”

“Yep.” Even the doors to the infirmary were old and grand, but things got a little more familiar to Tailgate once they entered. He was relieved to see this section of the temple was nice and modernized. 

“We will have to do a couple checks then, over the next two cycles. Today, our physician, Remedy, is going to give you a full standard check up, and then they will have to make sure you’re not carrying any harmful foreign viruses or bacteria from the port, as a precaution. Some of our members, especially at this location, don’t get out very often, and their immunity systems and programs often lag behind. Especially when it comes to natural updates.”

Tailgate nodded. They were alone in the clinic lobby, and he wondered where the doctor or any of their assistants (if there were any) were.

“Tomorrow, you’ll be given a non-invasive spark test. We prefer to confirm the results we receive since there was a… slight incident in the past. Really, we only need to do it for warframes entering the Guard, but it’s just standard practice now. There’s two new warframes who’ve also been recommended so you will all be tested as batch tomorrow. I assume that’s not going to be a problem?”

“Nope!”

“Good. Now where’s Remedy?” 

They waited for a bit longer. Finally, two mechs entered the clinic, neither of them surprised to see Navigator and Tailgate waiting. The mech in the lead, Remedy, spoke. “Sorry, sorry. There’s some important officials visiting down in the lower meeting chambers. They called us down for an emergency. Thankfully, it was just a bad hip joint popping out of place. This is the one from Rivets Field?”

“Yep.” Navigator pointed to the two mechs. “Tailgate, this is Remedy, and their assistant, Forceps.” 

Navigator left after that and Tailgate complacently went through a full check up. He had not received one in a while — he had missed one appointment, and then had gained an odd anxiety over rescheduling. It seemed lucky that he came to this new job. 

Remedy tsked. “Well, we’ll be doing both a test and an operation on you tomorrow.”

“Wait, what?”

“It’s an extremely simple but important part replacement. One of the power lines to your spark chamber has some minor corrosion on it. If left unattended, it could have led to eventual corrosion in the chamber itself. That would have been a major problem that could have led to spark failure.” 

Tailgate’s vents hiccupped. 

“But, we’ve caught it early enough. Simple operation, like I said. I can even do it _ while _we’re running the spark test on you tomorrow so you only have to open your spark chamber once.”

Tailgate was lying on a medical berth, his spark chamber open to the room as part of the exam. 

Spark chambers always had multiple layers of chest plating protecting them. Two was the standard for civilian frames. Warframes averaged out at four, and always had at least three layers.

Those layers were one of the most important protections the body had. Normally, it took great concentration through a deeply calm mind to voluntarily open those plates. It was something most mechs couldn’t actually accomplish. 

Medics knew override codes that stopped a body’s defense programming from automatically shuttering chest plating so that spark chambers could be examined and operated upon without damaging the mechanisms that control the various plates and layers. Those codes took away physical control, but not mental awareness. 

Tailgate was lying down with his spark exposed to open air, and it was a situation that was very easily to become greatly distressed in. 

His vents hiccupped again, and then fully stuttered, and he struggled to reset the systems. Remedy noticed the early signs of a panic attack. Not only did they quickly allow Tailgate’s chest plates to shutter closed, but they also moved through Tailgate’s systems, forcing in a command code to reset his ventilation controls. The panic was still there, but Tailgate’s autonomic systems could now smooth out to a normal ventilation rhythm. 

“That normal for you?”

“I- I mean I worry but like I don’t think I worry _ that bad _but maybe I do and I just don’t realize or- I’ve never had a problem like that before. I’m usually just a stress crier. Maybe get a little jittery and jumpy.”

Remedy placed a servo on Tailgate’s shoulder. “Well, you’ve also just started a new job on top of that news, so I don’t see that becoming a recurring problem. We can help with that too if it does; you just have to let us know.”

The spark examination had been the last section of Tailgate’s overall maintenance check-up — other than the one part that needed to be replaced, he was given a clean bill of health. Remedy called for Navigator, and Tailgate was shown to the living quarters of the temple. 

“We try and pair new members with new members, but all wishing to enter the priesthood must spend time living with an opposite frametype. Most civilian frames don’t come from a military-related background like yourself, so they need the time to get used to working with warframes. I’m hoping you won’t be a problem; again, this is just our usual practice. You’ll meet your roommate tomorrow at the spark exams. Cyclonus is his name.”

Navigator left after that, and Tailgate stood for a moment in the doorway to his new habsuite. It was rather spartan, but spacious, though he wondered if that was only because he was such a small frametype. 

There were two berths, opposite each other and along the side walls. There was a personal desk for each side, and small storage units. Tailgate’s few personal belongings had been sent ahead, and they were spread out on his desk to be organized and put away by himself. There was a few on his bed too, and he moved them to the floor crawling up onto the berth.

He hadn’t felt tired, but a wave of exhaustion quickly fell over him, and he promptly fell into recharge. 

***

Tailgate woke early, with ample time before his exam to put away all of his belongings. With everything nice and organized, it felt more like his own space. Even though the habsuite had been cleaned and readied for him, he felt better after wiping down the berth and desk himself. Tailgate might not have been organized when it came to personal appointments, or maintaining a strong social life, but he took pride in a clean living space and personal hygiene. He was good at his job for a reason. 

He paused while wiping down the chair to his desk. Though some bots rankled at how some stuck-up afts spent far too much time looking down upon jobs like Tailgate’s, he had never let that bother him. It was simple. He _ liked _cleaning. The anxiety over the previous cycle’s check-up had returned upon his rebooting, and cleaning had quickly brought that down. 

Tailgate wondered about work - specifically, about his work would be here. He thought only priests worked at the temple, but he could be wrong. Janitorial duty would most likely be one of the areas the Priesthood outsourced, if they did. 

Maybe he could volunteer to clean? 

...His roommate was going to think he was weird. 

Tailgate finished up and checked his chronometer, leaving the habsuite with time to get to the infirmary a little early. 

Forceps greeted him, immediately pulling him into the examination room. “You’re here first, you’ll go first. We take readings from all of you and then we’ll go over them in a batch, since we have to call in an additional physician from another temple to verify the results.”

Tailgate climbed up onto the berth. “They’re pretty picky about that, eh?”

Forceps began to calibrate a spark monitor. “Well, you see, the warframes we take in are all one specific type of outlier spark. They’re all oversized sparks. See, you’re overcharged, so what that means is your spark produces energy at a fast-than-normal rate, and so that extra energy constantly gets dissipated throughout your body. Which somehow gives you the ability to lift weights normally too heavy for your frameclass, but we don’t actually know how excess spark energy manages to do that. And what that excess energy does to the body can differ between mecha.

Now, oversized sparks produce energy, again, at a slightly excess rate, but in no way comparable to the rate your spark produces energy. We think because of that, their sparks get the chance to naturally expand to their oversized capacity, and then the body doesn’t have to shunt that extra charge out and away from the spark. But, because they have that extra energy, overcharged bots can actually _ displace _that energy by will. So, overcharged warframes get taken into the Priesthood because they can serve in the Primal Guard. When they displace part of their sparks into the Great Swords that represent their rank, they’re giving that part of spark to the Prime and earn the right to be that Prime’s Guard.” 

Tailgate had allowed himself to become fully intent on Forceps’ explanation, ignoring as the medical bot plugged into his systems and opened his chest plating. Remedy quietly slipped in right as Forceps spoke, and smiled as they noticed Tailgate was ready and comfortable for the examination. 

The energetic lilt to Forceps’ voice dampened. “A couple of vorns ago, we took in a warframe that had been reported to us as an oversized spark mech, when in fact, he wasn’t. He died because of the process to create a Great Sword. It’s a tragedy we don’t ever want to repeat, hence why we’re so particular about testing now.” 

Remedy nodded. “Exactly. And on a different note, Tailgate, the other two new recruits have finally arrived along with the secondary physician. We’re going to take your scans now and quickly replace that power line. You’ll have to wait around here for a bit afterwards.”

Remedy was beside Tailgate’s medberth now, and winked as their servos hovered over Tailgate’s exposed spark. “The yellow warframe seems nice and chatty, the purple one’s in a bit of a mood — just a heads up if you wanna try and pass the time talking to them. Now, let’s change out this line.”

Both the line change and the scanning were extremely quick operations, and Tailgate soon found himself waiting beside a yellow flightframe. Tailgate hated the dead air of the waiting room, and cleared his vocalizer to rid his voice of his social nervousness before he spoke. “You must do some work with reconnaissance right?”

The flightframe blinked in surprise, and then smiled. “Yeah, I do, well I did, quick flyovers and area scans of hostile and active zones. I’m surprised you managed to guess that.”

Tailgate forced down his habits of fidgeting his legs. “I used to work at Rivets Field base. Saw a lot of your frameclass out there. I’m Tailgate, by the way.”

“I’m Split Second.”

They both sat there chatting, until Split Second was shuffled out of the room, switched with the other warframe that had also been recruited by the Priesthood. This flightframe was a larger jet, though still one made for speed in combat. They were a deep, warm purple, with beautiful horns that jutted up from the top of their helm that paired with angled cheek hollows for a distinguishing profile. 

“Hello! I’m Tailgate.”

“Cyclonus.”

The flightframe sat in the seat Split Second had vacated. They made no other comment after giving their designation, and a dead air began to settle into the waiting room.

Tailgate hated it, the silence making him nervous. “Are you from the same base as Split Second?”

“No.”

_ Tough crowd. _The stifling atmosphere fully set in, and Tailgate tapped his digits against the arm of his chair as the two of them waited. He was sure Cyclonus’ optics were narrowing more and more in Tailgate’s direction as the time passed, but thankfully, Split Second returned before long.

“Remedy said they’re just going to go over the scans, and then they take us to one of the meeting rooms to properly start our orientation.”

Remedy soon came into the waiting room to collect them, and then all three were led down to a meeting room a level down from the infirmary. They took seats at the table, Remedy giving them all a light smile as they remained standing. “You all are the spark types you were reported as, so my job is done for the day. Navigator will be in here to see you all soon. I’ll have to ask that you sit and wait for a few moments longer.”

As they waited, Split Second was quick to re-engage Tailgate in conversation, and the small mech was thankful for it. Cyclonus sat there, silently watching the two of them from the corner of his optics though his helm remained facing the doorway they had entered through. 

Cyclonus didn’t really look like he was paying attention to the other two occupants of the room, but a part of Tailgate was sure he was. 

Navigator soon entered, as business like as she had been when first greeting Tailgate the cycle prior. “I’m glad to hear you all will be joining us in the full capacity we expected from you. Starting today, you three will begin the studying and training required to become a fully fledged member of the Priesthood.”

She made optic connect with Cyclonus and then Split Second. “You two will be expected to undergo the training to attempt the test to join the Primal Guard. Though I know your previous military superiors explained it, I will reiterate that you are required to attempt the test to your fullest abilities at least once before you’ll be allowed to pursue any other occupational avenues here, or back in the military.” 

Then, she turned to Tailgate. “As an overcharged civilainframe, you have more options, and I will be going through them with you in a meeting tomorrow afternoon.”

“The mornings for the next few upcoming decacycles will be spent teaching you our tenets, leading later into self-guided study, after you’ve decided a more narrowed focus in our ranks. During the afternoons you’ll be assigned various housekeeping duties around the temple.”

Tailgate accepted a wireless databurst from Navigator entitled “New Recruit Enlistment Package.” 

“You all received the package, yes?”

“Yes, sir.” Both Cyclonus and Split Second replied quickly, at the same time, evidently a habit from their previous occupation. Tailgate nodded a shaky confirmation after them. 

“Good. Split Second, you got lucky, and for a bit at least, you are going to have a private room. Cyclonus, you will be bunking with Tailgate. I’m sure he can show you to your habsuite. See you two tomorrow, first working cycle. Split Second, if you would follow me, I’ll show you to your habsuite.”

Tailgate worked to keep his EM field calm as he noticed Cyclonus look him up and down again. “Well, let’s get going?”

The warframe nodded. Cyclonus was a silent, looming presence as they walked through the hallways. The meeting room had been in an area of the temple Tailgate had not previously been in, and he was extremely grateful that he managed to lead the two of them back to their habsuite without getting lost. 

Tailgate sent the unlock code to the door, and passed the signal along to Cyclonus, who nodded as he received it. Tailgate’s stuff was still as neat and organized it as he had left it the start of that cycle, whereas Cyclonus’ few belongings were stacked upon his berth. 

“Really, you think they would at least bother putting it on the desk since we’ve been busy all cycle.”

“It would be nice, but it is no bother. I am going to turn in now; it has been a long cycle even if it is still early.”

Cyclonus easily stepped around Tailgate, quickly moved his belongings to the floor, and laid down on the berth, facing away from Tailgate’s side of the room.

“Oh! Have a good recharge!"

Tailgate received no answer, and tried to quietly get ready for recharge himself.

Technically, it could have gone worse. 


	4. Present: Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted this out yesterday, but knew it needed another look over and that my brain was too tired. Thanks for reading and hope you like it. See you again on Sunday!

_I swear to be both one who learns and one who teaches, for knowledge is one of Primus' greatest gifts, one to be shared with all._

***

Ultra Magnus was still locked in a coma, and though a small, desperate part of Optimus wanted to hold onto the hope that his mentor would wake up, the practical part of himself knew that wasn’t going to happen. Even if it did, Ultra Magnus would be in no condition to return to his post.

Interim Magnus Sentinel Prime would soon oversee an Election Meeting with the Autobot Council, and was the foremost candidate for the position. If Rodimus wasn’t still recovering from Cosmic Rust, Optimus would have liked to see that young Prime take the shot at leadership. He had a kinder streak in him, but with the tenacity to match Sentinel’s large personality.

But Rodimus wasn’t even back to activity duty, and still wouldn’t be for decacycles to come. 

And Cliffjumper still had yet to be properly appointed a Prime, and was struggling to run the Intelligence Agency without the full title as he kept getting stopped by red tape. Optimus would have offered to help him, if it weren’t for the fact that he was often still being run around as the new heroic face of the Autobot Military for Sentinel’s campaigning. 

Command was barely holding together by a few worn cables, and within all that stress Optimus Prime’s processors kept returning to one very interesting priest. It kept turning over how much history Tailgate must know from first hand experience, speculating on what the mech could tell him. 

Optimus recognized that his renewed scholarly curiosity was a stress response. Though he was nervous, he still felt it was worth the shot to ask Tailgate if he was willing to just talk about his knowledge, for his peace of mind, if anything. He could find a more productive distraction for his stress once he eliminated picking Tailgate’s processor as an option. 

He honestly hadn’t expected a response, and when Ratchet had sent back coordinates to one of the poorer districts closer to the Temple of Iacon, Optimus was pleasantly surprised. And not so pleasantly surprised — the section of Iacon Tailgate was asking him to meet in was one he generally avoided because of its reputation. Optimus did not think himself vain, but especially after all that had happened to him, he was starting to have some self-preservation instincts when it came to his public image. 

Hopefully, no one would care to notice a Prime wandering around that neighbourhood. 

He went to meet Tailgate on one of his cycles off. Optimus brought along a pack of high-end rust sticks, thinking it would be rude to bother the priest for awhile and give nothing in return, even if Tailgate had not mentioned wanting any compensation in his reply. 

It was a quick jaunt from the temple to the location Ratchet had sent, and thankfully, Optimus arrived there undisturbed. He did not have to wait either; Tailgate stood there waving to Optimus as soon as they were in sight of each other. 

Tailgate’s voice was cheery. “Ratchet said you wanted to talk to me?”

“Yes,” Optimus rubbed the back of his neck, “history was my area of focus while in the Academy, and now that I have some free time and I’m stationed back here on Cybertron I figure it’s a good study to pick up again.” 

Tailgate nodded, and then his visor glowed stronger, for a moment. “It’s gonna come with a price.” 

“Oh, well my salary has gone up-“ 

“Nope!” The mech actually _ giggled _as he met Optimus’ gaze straight on. “The price is you gotta be willing to break some rules. I’ll show you all around the temple, but that means you’re going to go into areas now restricted from anyone but the Priesthood. Remember how I mentioned almost all of the archives used to be open to everyone?” 

“Yes?”

“Good! That’s where we’re starting. We’ll take an underground path into the temple; they won’t let us just waltz on in. Foresight has an order out that they kick me out on sight.”

Foresight was the current leader of the whole Priesthood all across Cybertron, and not a mech that should be ignored. Optimus wondered if Tailgate had any respect for authority, but he didn’t voice any questioning nor disapproval of Tailgate’s attitude. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with myself being a trespasser.” 

“That’s the price. The point is you shouldn’t feel like a trespasser. They have no right to deny you knowledge we collected with the original intention of sharing with all. The Priesthood Archivists are not supposed to be archivists on behalf of our order, but on behalf of all Cybertronians.” Tailgate shrugged. “No one’s gonna find out about us, I bet, but I still wanna prove the point that the knowledge in those archives is for everyone.”

Optimus should have said no, but he took in the tilt of Tailgate’s helm, the other mech’s servos on his hips, and he couldn’t help squash the flair of indignation he felt. Sentinel was still leading mecha to question Optimus' authority, and that alone was grating on his nerves.

However, watching as Tailgate’s chin tilted slightly higher as Optimus took longer and longer to response, Optimus realized the priest was questioning not his authority, but his whole _ character _. 

Maybe he could be selfish, just this once. “Okay. Lead the way.”

Tailgate sent an immediate pulse of happy energy through his EM field before leading Optimus down an alley. Optimus’ optics darted around as they walked, and he felt a current of anxiety running through his plating because of their dark and cramped surroundings. Tailgate seemed completely unaffected.

They came towards a tunnel — why it existed Optimus could not guess. Tailgate didn’t hesitate as he led the two of them inside, and so began a journey down into the planet. 

In the grand scheme of things, they didn’t go too deep into the planet, but that was only relative to Cybertron’s massive size, and Optimus was sure that he himself had never gone as deep as Tailgate led him.

The tunnels they travelled through started out as a mix of rough stone and metal walls — ones that could appear naturally anywhere on Cybertron. After a bit though, Optimus realized there was definitely some Cybertronian-intervention in their construction as sections had been carved out in to a more uniform, rectangular shape. Soon after the signs of carving, there came definite _ walls _ after they stepped out of an actual doorway. Optimus blinked in surprise at how nice a corridor they were in, even if the design was of an older style. Not the straight, decor-less, functional, flat plate-style the military favoured, but one with geometric shapes carved in to break up the metonymy. “Where are we?”

“The lower levels of the Temple of Iacon.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yep! It’s not really public knowledge now, but Vector Sigma is really, really deep into the planet, and we got tunnel systems branching off of all of the layers leading down to Sigma, if you know where to look for them. A bunch of mecha here for some reason think what we came out of is just another storage closet.”

Optimus glanced back at the door they had exited; it did look pretty mundane. “But you know the systems well?”

“Oh yeah! That’s how they haven’t managed to kick me out yet. Can’t get rid of me if they don’t know how I’m getting in. One time they tried to be complete boltheads and literally try to starve me out by locking down the messes and energon supplies real good, but I know these tunnel systems like my own servo gears at this point. There’s a natural energon spring off one of the paths, and it beats the slag the Priesthood gets from the farms any cycle. It’s actually really cool!”

They rounded a corner, stopping in front of a massive set of double doors inlaid with precious metals. Tailgate pushed them open with ease, but Optimus thought he might have struggled with their weight if he tried. 

The room, like most of the temple, was a mix of old and new. Inside were shelves and shelves of datapads, all depressed into the walls of the room, which appeared to be made of stone instead of metal. That left ample space for not only plain tables, but also a large holotable in the middle, and large desks covered in screens with multiple connections to the Information Grid. 

Optimus was instantly overwhelmed by the simple sense of knowing the immense amount of information that should be in this room.

Tailgate tapped Optimus’ elbow lightly to gain his attention, and then gave him a quick tour of the room, explaining the organization system. The priest then scratched the back of his helm. “Sorry, I can’t get you access to the records kept only in the Grid. That’s one of the things they can manage to keep me out of.” 

“I’m sure there’s enough to keep my occupied here. Though I do hope it’s not rude for me to reiterate that I do also just want to talk with you. Hearing stories from someone who actually lived through history is always very satisfying.”

“Aha, well, hopefully I’m a good story-teller then.” 

Optimus motioned to one of the tables, and both of them sat. He reached into his subspace to pull out the rust sticks, and was offering them was Tailgate gasped. 

“Oh! You know about that?”

Optimus blinked in surprise. “I’m sorry?”

Tailgate’s visor blinked out for a second, and then he waved his servos. “Ah, back in the day it was considered proper for anyone asking a Priest for advice to bring them a treat like rust sticks. We’re not supposed to actually want for anything, the Priesthood sees for all of our needs and stuff like that, and we get pay to buy any personal stuff we want. But to be nice people brought treats — they used to often be personally made instead of bought — as a thank you.”

“I had no idea. It seemed rude to come without anything though when I’m taking time out of your cycle.” 

Tailgate laughed. “Not like I have much to do myself, most of the time.” 

Optimus didn’t know what else to do, other than nod. He reached into his subspace again. “Is it alright if I take notes of stuff like that? We really don’t get a chance to learn about little everyday things in the Academy. The focus is heavy on military and political history.”

“Sure, go right ahead. I might just tell you if there’s something I don’t want you to write down, okay?”

“Of course. To transition then, if I can ask about how you joined the Priesthood? Ratchet mentioned that he thought you had been recruited because of your spark type.”

That launched their discussion. Tailgate was animated in his conversation, which Optimus was thankful for. Between that, and the fact that Optimus had formed habits for research interviews with willing military veterans back in the Academy, they were able to keep the discussion smooth and easy-going while still giving Optimus a plethora of information he had never heard before. 

The priest regularly threw in jabs at the current Priesthood, and Optimus couldn’t stop himself from asking his next question. “Why stay here then? You said yourself you have other occupational experience. Why not find another job?”

Tailgate slumped forward, resting his helm on servo and elbow overtop of the table. “Cause this isn’t just a job — used to not be at least, I don’t know what some of the newsparks they take in now think. It becomes an important part of your life and I very much enjoy my work. I really enjoyed janitorial and stuff like that too; other mecha might look down on it, but I find it extremely relaxing. It didn’t take much energy to get through my work cycles, and I could enjoy my evening cycles for whatever I felt like doing. But the Priesthood not only gave me new skills, but let me take my old skills into my new life.”

“Oh?”

“They outsource all janitorial work now, but back when I was young there were some rooms that _ had _to be cleaned and maintained by a member of the Priesthood. We were all shirking our duties if it wasn’t. Though, I will say even back then there were members that were ecstatic that I was willing to clean so much.” Tailgate laughed. “But, even those guys still took their turns when they needed to.”

“So you stay for duty then?”

“Yes, but also because I don’t know where else to wait.”

“Wait?”

The small mech quieted. The light from his visor was extremely dim, and he sighed. “Yeah, I’m waiting for someone to come home, and this was our home.”

A silence settled. Optimus stared down at his datapad, and though Tailgate didn’t say anything, he knew this was something not to record. “You know warframes.”

“Yeah, you do too, even if you’ve only ever fought them. I do have friends that used to work and live here. The Primal and Temple Guards were a thing after all.”

“Are they not one and the same?”

Tailgate stared at him, as if he didn’t believe that Optimus was genuine with his question. After a moment, the priest shook his head. “Mech, I don’t even want to know what they teach in the Academy. You know, I don’t count myself as knowledgable, I just work hard to keep all my memory files straight and intact. Apparently I have simple facts that are now uncommon though.”

“So they aren’t?”

“No, they’re not.” Tailgate sat up straighter. “It’s gonna take us some time to get you back up to the surface.” The mech turned off half of his visor in a wink. “We should get going so you get back up and home at a decent time. We do have to take the long way out after all.”

Optimus tried to pay more attention to the route Tailgate took to lead them back to the surface, but he quickly lost track of the twists and turns. The priest might not have thought himself knowledgeable, but Optimus knew the mech had a certain intelligence, one that others might call a strong sense of common sense and life skills. It was a marvel that he managed to map the catacombs of Iacon after all. 

The tunnel opened up back to the alleyway Optimus had met Tailgate in. They had had a few of the rust sticks between them while they were talking, and Optimus handed the rest of them to the priest. “Thanks again for meeting with me. Would we be able to do this again?”

Tailgate took the box, and a single stick out. He opened up his intake, a circular model with a sliding cover instead of Optimus’ own and more expressive lip-plates. The priest took a bite off the top. “I know you said you’re just interested in picking up your studies again, but is that the only reason you’re doing this?" 

The Prime stared at the priest. Optimus wasn’t sure how to answer him as he wasn’t sure of all of his reasoning himself yet. “Well, for now, at least.”

There was a pause.

“I guess I’m feeling a bit stuck. Sentinel Prime’s bidding for Magnus, and there’s no one to contest him, which doesn’t feel right to me. I have to much of, ah, history on my military record to try contesting him though. I wouldn’t be a good fit anyways.”

Tailgate was studying him again. He took another bite of the stick. “Makes sense. You live by the Academy right?”

“Well, in the proper military barracks; the recruits are separate from us.”

There was a ping for a small datapack against Optimus’ comms. He opened it to find a set of coordinates close to his residence. 

Tailgate finished the rust stick. “Leave a message-pad for me there when you wanna meet again. I’ll leave the response there.” The priest turned and waved as he entered back into the tunnel. “See ya later, Optimus! Maybe go and try and keep the government out of too much trouble yeah?” 


	5. Past: Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a day late! My semester just started so I'm a little out of sorts, expect another chapter in the next couple days, and hopefully I'll be back on my intended "two chapters on Sunday" schedule this upcoming Sunday LOL

_I swear to value diligence; to better myself, and so that my better self can help better others._

***

“Hey, ah, Cyclonus? Do you mind going over the new rites Navigator taught us this cycle?”

Cyclonus, Split Second, and Tailgate had been taught Rites of Passage that cycle, and Tailgate was fairly certain that the general idea of the lesson had stuck, but (for him at least) memorizing the scripts they had to know only came to him with practice.

Lots and lots of practice, and Tailgate felt more stupid the more and more he quietly recited various rites to the wall behind his desk.

Cyclonus turned around from his own desk in their habsuite, his usual scowl plastered on his faceplates. “Go over?”

“Yeah. I’d like to recite them at you to see if I make any mistakes. We could take turns? If you want.”

Tailgate expected a negative reply, and wasn’t sure how to feel when Cyclonus nodded. They had lived together for a few decacycles now, and Cyclonus’ cool demeanour had yet to thaw. The mech held himself stiff, as if he was marching as he crossed the room, pulling his rolling chair behind him to come sit beside Tailgate.

“Oh, awesome! I’ll go first, okay?”

Tailgate stammered as he started, but soon took up the rhythm of the Death Rites. He knew his delivery was stiff, but he at least thought the words were correct.

“...I ask that you welcome this mech back into the Well with warmth. Guide them to peace and rest, and bring peace and reminders of fond memories to those who miss them. And may all find happiness once returned in the Well together again, where all are one.” 

“I believe you’re supposed to say ‘Well of Allsparks’ with its full title in all instances during the rites.” 

“Oh! Yeah, you’re right. Everything else was fine though?”

“Yes.” 

Cyclonus ran through the words next, voice smooth and even in his serious tone. It was a pleasure to listen too, but Tailgate had to fight to not get distracted by the glare the other suddenly had on his faceplates as he ran through the script. 

It took a moment for Tailgate to realize when Cyclonus had finished, the other looking at him expectantly. A faint fizzle of annoyance ran through Cyclonus’ EM field.

“You had the words perfect.”

“But?”

“But?” Tailgate squeaked.

“Well, something distracted you. Were you actually listening to what I was saying?”

“Yes. I’m not lying about you have the words right… it’s just… ah-”

Tailgate could feel judgement rolling off of Cyclonus in waves, and panic was halfway to freezing his vocalizer silent, or forcing words out so fast they would be indecipherable. 

“Tailgate.”

“Okay, fine.” Tailgate waved a servo in front of his face as if to downplay his next words. “Your tone was okay, but Cyclonus, you glared at me the whole time! I thought I was getting the Death Rites because you were about to send me to the Well yourself.”

Cyclonus’ EM field suddenly pulled in tight. Tailgate became very aware that that must have been the most opinionated he had said to the mech in the time he had known him, and of course it had to be words that were so criticizing.

Oh Primus, living in this room was going to be awkward. 

After a moment, the warframe sighed. “I guess some habits from the military might not transfer well to this job.” 

Tailgate froze as what might have been a faint smirk appeared on Cyclonus’ faceplates as he continued talking. “That glare gets the idiots I used to work with to actually do their jobs, but it appears it will do me no good here.”

“Not until you’re in the Guard at least?”

“That is true.” The maybe-smirk fell away. “Can we make a habit of practicing together? I am going to need your help in keeping a more… friendly disposition for this kind of work.”

“Yeah, of course!”

Cyclonus nodded, stood up, and brought his chair back to his desk. He left the room without saying anything else.

Practicing their scripts with each other did become habit, and it somehow led to the two of them also studying together in general. The studying sometimes included Split Second, and though she was a vibrant personality and a great conversationalist, Tailgate found himself really enjoying the practice and study time him and Cyclonus took alone. 

He soon realized that Cyclonus’ cool demeanour really just was his personality. At least, Tailgate didn’t think the purple warframe was meaning to be insulting in any way, he just simply didn’t bother to force niceties he didn’t mean, and had a bad habit of forgetting (or forgoing?) proper greetings and departures. 

Which made living with the mech a little awkward, but Tailgate found enjoyment in it all the same. 


	6. Present: Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schedule, what schedule?
> 
> My brain decided it wants to do more editing on the latter half of this fic. I'm shooting for an update a week now ahhhhhh

_I swear to hold my faith, no matter what may challenge it. I shall be unwavering, even if before the Unmaker Himself._

***

“So you’ve still been visiting the trouble maker, eh kid?” 

Optimus and Ratchet were sitting on the rooftop patio of a small cafe near Iacon Hospital, two mugs of warmed energon in front of them. It was late mid-cycle, overcast, and they had a rare moment of privacy as other mecha were hiding inside as the clouds above promised precipitation sometime soon. 

Optimus scowled at Ratchet because he could. His friend was one of the few mecha who wouldn’t take offence, and would throw it back at him even harder. As his popularity grew with being the hero who brought down Megatron, it was plain and simply nice to have Ratchet treat him as he always had — as the kid who barely knew what he was doing when given command of a ragtag team of space bridge technicians. Ratchet recognized him as a mech that could be flawed like any other, and would not hold that against Optimus. “And if I am?”

“I just wonder if any higher ups are gonna give you trouble if they find out.”

“He’s just a Priest of Primus.”

Ratchet laughed, gruff and full-bodied. “You know, I bet you he would say the same thing, but we should all recognize that’s not true. The old mech’s got views that would make Sentinel blow five gaskets if he heard them. Which, ya know, is actually something I would pay to see. Do you think we could arrange that meeting?”

Optimus sighed. “Ratchet, don’t joke about that.”

“Come on, it would toughen Sentinel up. He’s going to have to deal with a whole load of slag once they officially swear him in as Magnus. I don’t think the mech’s going to take anything the media says of him well, once society gets through this phase of praising everyone in Command for the work _we _didcatching Megatron and some of his mechs. By the Cold Void, they’ve given that Blurr kid none of the credit and he got slagged to the Unmaker’s Void and back.”

Command still did not have a full picture of what had happened to Agent Blurr. Few answers came from a mech crushed into a cube, even if he was miraculously, technically alive because of his still-pulsing spark. Security footage had been tampered with, leaving Intelligence with no idea what had happened to their member after he somehow returned to Cybertron by unknown means. Blurr had been saved from an incinerator two full cycles ago, but whatever life the mech was going to have, if he somehow survived reconstruction, was going to be drastically different from his previous one. Optimus rubbed at his optics; he couldn't prevent the current of sorrow that raced through his EM field. 

“Sorry kid, shouldn’t have brought that one up. Don’t worry about it though, I’ve got a plan for that.”

Optimus perked up. “You do?”

“Yeah. Actually, if you can, can you rush Sari’s clearance papers for me so she can come back to Cybertron? She's still carrying Allspark energy; I'm betting she can still communicate with it too.” 

That… might actually work. Optimus decided he had to hope it would work. “Yes, right away.”

“Well, first we’re going to finish refueling. You’ve been working yourself too hard.” Ratchet smiled. “You’ve earned the break to run around with a crazy old anti-government rogue priest.”

Optimus wanted to deny that Tailgate was completely against their government, but held his vocalizer. He may have been tactfully been avoiding delving too deeply into modern politics when meeting with Tailgate to avoid hearing such sentiments. “I’ve been enjoying my conversations with him.”

“That’s good to hear. I just hope a youngling like you isn't accidentally annoying him.”

Optimus returned the jab with a small smile. A crack of thunder came from way in the distance. “I do get why you call him a trouble maker though.” 

“Hm. He’s the right kind of unapologetic to piss some uptight mecha off. Tailgate stands his ground in ways Sentinel wish he could; he's so genuine about it that it's hard to fault the mech for it.”

Optimus nodded. “He cares about things though, holds onto his ideals. I think we all could use a little bit of that right now.”


End file.
